


Let’s Go for the Stories That Remain Untold

by PhilosopherStrawberry



Series: Inspire the Liars Verse [1]
Category: Dance Gavin Dance (Band), Inspire the Liars - Dance Gavin Dance (Music Video)
Genre: Gen, Inspire the Liars (Song), Inspired by Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24577492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhilosopherStrawberry/pseuds/PhilosopherStrawberry
Summary: Though it's not the beginning, it's still the best place to start.--A retelling of the music video for "Inspire the Liars."
Series: Inspire the Liars Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776463
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Let’s Go for the Stories That Remain Untold

**Author's Note:**

> While I adore all of the lore that DGD has created over the years in their music videos, "Inspire the Liars" is my favorite in regards to storytelling. I love it so much that I've begun worldbuilding around it, and this piece, a retelling/fleshing out of the music video's plot, will serve as the focal point that everything else I write for this AU is anchored to. So, if all goes to plan, this should be the first in a collection of short stories all centered around DGD's escapades in and beyond "Inspire the Liars." 
> 
> Side note: I'd actually started writing this piece before I even had the idea for Tail Feathers, but it got temporarily pushed aside due to other projects I was working on at the time. I'm glad I've finally finished it, and I hope it's as fun to read as it was to write.
> 
> Enjoy!

Jon is still picking glass out of his teeth when Tilian finally makes his appearance, throwing open the passenger side door of the truck.

“Do I even want to know?” Tilian asks, hoisting himself up into the truck and slamming the door shut. He’s dressed cleanly in a standard black tuxedo, dark blonde hair slicked back.

“It’s better when I put on a performance,” Jon replies. He spits out a shard of glass which clinks against the windshield and falls on to the dashboard, plastered with blood and saliva.

“I’m the one who’s supposed to be performing…” Tilian mutters under his breath, his hands clenching tight into fists for a moment. He goes to shoot a glare in Jon’s direction, causing him to catch sight of a faint, green tinted stain on the left side of Jon’s obnoxiously red suit jacket. A bottle full of similarly colored liquid, vibrant like absinthe, is lodged in the center console’s cupholder.

“Please,” Tilian’s voice is strained, the product of both exhaustion and mounting frustration, “tell me that you haven’t been drinking that stuff.”

Jon laughs a bit and smiles, all crooked teeth and bleeding gums. “Why would I? It doesn’t even taste like anything.”

Tilian sighs deeply and presses two fingers to his temple, hand curled into the shape of a gun. “I shouldn’t even be surprised. You do remember what it does, right?”

Jon shrugs and his expression hardens, becomes almost indignant. “Of course, I remember. I was just curious. I don’t understand how it works.”

There’s a beat of silence. Tilian mumbles something that could possibly be, “You don’t need to understand.” Jon drums his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Did you tell the other guys that we’re leaving?” Jon asks, already cooled down, cycled back into his typical state of seemingly naïve optimism.

Tilian scoffs, picks at the loose skin around one of his thumbnails. “Why does it matter? They don’t ask questions as long as they’re getting paid.” He closes his eyes for a moment, centers himself. “Can we just go? You know we shouldn’t be hanging around.”

In the back of the truck there’s a cage filled with creatures that appear to be anthropomorphic rabbits. Their fur glows almost imperceptibly green. Across the street, a pastry chef stares at the truck and its contents, knowing everything, knowing nothing.

“Whatever you say,” Jon complies, turning the key in the ignition.

And they drive.

#

The next time they stop at a gas station, it’s the same old argument.

“I’m driving next,” Tilian says. He’s leaned up against the side of the truck, smoking a cigarette.

“What?” Jon’s brow furrows, gaze flitting from the numbers rising on the gas pump to look at Tilian. “I thought it was my turn.”

“It was. You drove us here. Now it’s my turn.” Tilian flicks the ash off his cigarette, shifts uncomfortably.

Jon is silent for a moment, thinking. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees the rabbit creatures still packed into the cage in the back of the truck. “Alright,” he concedes.

Tilian throws down his cigarette and crushes it under his heel. “Thanks,” he says, offering Jon a smile. He looks tired, but the gratitude is genuine. It always is.

Jon returns the gesture easily, like it’s second nature.

#

If Jon’s being honest, he’s not exactly sure where they are.

Tilian had referred to it as a “shortcut,” but it doesn’t look like any shortcut that Jon’s ever seen. Actually, it looks like a storm drain, and Jon has the fleeting thought that maybe they shouldn’t be driving in it.

This concern is immediately replaced by confusion when Jon takes a moment to gaze out the passenger side window of the truck.

Cruising along beside them is a DeLorean driven by what appears to be two robots and an anthropomorphic skeleton duck wearing a pirate hat. The duck shoots finger guns at Jon when it catches him looking.

In response, Jon can’t help but shake his head, blinking rapidly as if he’s afraid he might be hallucinating. He glances at Tilian beside him, wondering if they’re both seeing the same thing.

But Tilian doesn’t say anything, so neither does Jon.

#

It always looks like a sun when they first see it on the horizon.

The yellow glow that emanates from the Mothership always starts off as too bright to see past, something human eyes need to adjust to each time they’re forced to witness it. Then, after this period of adaptation, the infinity sign shape of the entity comes into focus, mesmerizing in its constant movement, its endless cycling. It’s not exactly how one might picture a god, but it’s close enough.

This time, when they catch that initial glimpse of the Mothership, Tilian is navigating the truck through the curves of a sketchy mountainside road, driving too fast and taking turns too sharp. Once or twice, Jon thinks they might careen off the edge and fall to their deaths. They don’t though, and Tilian grins every time he manages to keep the truck on the road against all odds, as if it’s a personal victory. Jon smiles too, because, when he thinks about it, the adrenaline rush, the moment of panic, is kind of fun.

Such a thought should probably worry him more than it actually does.

#

When Tilian slows the truck to a stop and throws it into park, they’re so close to the Mothership that all of its intricacies have become visible.

At a distance, the Mothership appears completely smooth, but that mistaken observation actually couldn’t be farther from the truth. In reality, the surface of the entity is covered in dark etchings that Tilian and Jon still haven’t been able to accurately map, even with all the time they’ve spent in the Mothership’s presence. Sometimes they discuss the possibility that the patterns are changing, have always been changing, but, unsurprisingly, they’ve never been able to come to a consensus on the matter.

This idea passes through Jon’s mind once again as he stares up at the Mothership, which is filling the entirety of the truck’s windshield. They shouldn’t be wasting this kind of time, shouldn’t be sitting idly on a highway out in the middle of nowhere, but it’s hard not to in their line of work. Even familiarity doesn’t stand a chance against involuntary reverence. 

Eventually, Jon manages to tear his gaze away from the Mothership long enough to get out of the truck, the passenger side door left open behind him. Then, as he has many times before, Jon walks around to the back of the vehicle, where all of the rabbit creatures are looking up at the Mothership in wide-eyed astonishment. Taking advantage of this opportunity, Jon unlocks the cage sitting in the back of the truck and allows the door to swing open before he reaches in to grab one of the rabbit creatures.

One hand planted on either of its shoulders, Jon drags the rabbit creature out of the cage and hurls it into the air, the brilliant white light of the Mothership’s tractor beam instantly appearing to catch it. With practiced ease, Jon repeats this process until the cage is completely empty, the whole procedure like a business transaction.

His job done for now, Jon relocks the cage and begins making his way back to the front of the truck. As he does, Jon’s gaze is drawn to the rabbit creatures floating above him, simplified into silhouettes as they drift closer and closer to the Mothership. He can’t help but sympathize with them, no matter how much he tries not to.

After all, he and Tilian are victims of the Mothership, too, just like them.

Shaking that thought from his head, Jon slides into the passenger seat of the truck and pulls the door closed. His return catches Tilian’s attention for a moment, and the two of them briefly share a smile when their eyes meet. The interaction, despite its appearance, lacks any sort of real happiness. 

Unblinkingly, they watch as the rabbit creatures become stuck in the Mothership’s gravity, orbiting around the entity’s curves as it suddenly rockets further into the air, spinning at a speed that’s difficult to comprehend. Within seconds, the Mothership is nothing but a yellow blip in the smoky gray of the overcast sky, the radiance of it lingering long after the actual entity has disappeared. Jon and Tilian let out breaths they didn’t know they were holding.

“You wanna go get something to eat?” Tilian asks, tone casual as he goes to shift the truck into drive. There’s a strange tightness to his voice, but Jon ignores it.

“Yeah.” They’re both grateful for the change in subject, want to think about anything other than how violated, how used, they feel. The Mothership, even just the idea of it, can often be too much for the human mind to fathom, let alone experience. 

Over time, they’ve learned this. They’ve learned not to wonder where it goes, not to ask why it comes back.

They just follow.


End file.
